


Shadowline

by niiary



Category: South Park
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Artists, Artist Craig, Critic Kyle, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, No cheating, Set in Colombia, adding tags as I go, cryle zine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niiary/pseuds/niiary
Summary: “Do you know him?” Leopold says, impressed. Startled, Craig looks at him and shakes his head. “He’s new to the country! I could present it to ya.”“No, it’s not necessary-““C’mon,” Leopold smiles loopsidely, guiding him by gently pushing his shoulder, and all Craig feels is dread, “he’s a critic- or writer- from Europe- or was it the USA? Anyways, could be fan of yours, with the way he’s looking at your pieces.”
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Craig Tucker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Amaretto





	Shadowline

Yellow and white drops fall in circles, covering a black canvas, giving dynamism to the otherwise rigid painting. Craig inspects it up and down, trying to find the artist’s signature, but the closest thing he finds is a square-shaped symbol with three vertical lines inside. He steps back and looks around the lonely hallway, pitying the artists whose pieces ended up decorating elegant wooden walls all over the club with no one to stop and admire them, taking them for granted as part of the place.

_Maybe one of my works will end up in a place like this, too._

He scrunches up his nose and turns around, deciding it’s time to get back to his own exhibition. Maybe people have already begun to arrive.

Slowly walking up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, he runs his hands over the cool, metallic railings as he mentally prepares himself for numerous attendees boarding him up with questions he’s exhausted of answering, making small talk about the most insipid day-to-day topics or even rumors he couldn’t give a damn about. He wishes he could exclusively display his artworks in small, independent places, but he does care about getting known and advancing career-wise, so he’s resigned himself to doing so in pretentious, elegant clubs and galleries, full of extravagant appearances and too wide smiles, of fake or overdone compliments.

He sighs and stops, crossing his arms on a railing as he stares at the reception three floors below, trying to distinguish anyone he knows but it’s difficult when everyone’s dressed in dark cocktail attires, yet a bright blur goes through the doors and calls his attention: it’s a blonde woman with long, curly hair and a unbelievably red dress that tightly embraces her body. Craig makes a face- who does she think she is, walking the place as if it were a runway, saying ‘hi’ to every person she comes across, laughing loudly and swinging her arms around as she talks? Is she trying to be a Colombian version of Marilyn Monroe, like some type of sex symbol? It’s truly obnoxious, and he hopes she didn’t come to his exhibition.

He drums his fingers on his forearms before continuing his way upstairs, then down the long hallway to the right, soon arriving to the secondary art exhibition room. Maybe one day he’ll get to show his works in the main one, or so he dreams.

There’s only around fifteen people inside. It causes his heart to leap, and he’s invaded by contradictory sensations: it’s relieving not calling anyone’s attention, yet it’d be terrible if no one else came. Critics would make fun of him, shaming or pitying him, publishing their articles in relevant magazines and newspapers, and then his colleagues would give his condolences. It’d be so, so humiliating…

Craig looks at the black watch on his wrist, a gift from Clyde, a dear friend of his.

It’s still early. There’s plenty of time.

God, if only Clyde could come. He’d know how to calm him down.

A waiter approaches him and offers wine. Craig accepts a cup and thanks him, and once he leaves he looks around, making sure no one is staring before taking a long sip, making sure there’s enough alcohol left to pretend he’s following some kind of unspoken courtesy. Then, he walks back and forth, paying attention to the expressions of those who are looking at his artwork. So far he’s read _admiration_ and _appreciation, curiosity_ even, yet he wonders if someone, eventually, will distinguish and analyze a deeper, meaningful message through strokes of charcoal and pencil.

His gaze strays and lands on a face he immediately recognizes: Token Black, a colleague of his, who just happens to be both a painter and critic, who’s chatting with Wendy Testaburger, a gallery owner and journalist that he _knows_ doesn’t enjoy Craig’s own work. He gets close to them and puts up a curt smile without showing his teeth to say _‘hello’_ , and they return it before continuing their conversation about whatever person they were talking of. Craig doesn’t pay attention and settles for nodding, sighing, huffing and lightly laughing according to what’s expected of him. Before he knows it, time has run by and a lot more people have arrived, which both reassures and stuns him, and all he wants is to either drink more wine or leave, but he forces himself to stay still even though his heart is beating fast and hard against his chest, making breathing difficult.

Eventually he gets tired of Wendy’s and Token’s excited voices around an empty conversation, so he throws a _‘excuse me’_ and a _‘see you around’_ he doesn’t mean before he resumes floating around, approaching some groups every now and then when he’s called over. At one point he mindlessly stares ahead while taking small, quiet sips from his cup, until he sees a redheaded man standing too close to one of his largest drawings as if he were tasting every inch of it, watching and detailing every single dot and line. Craig raises an eyebrow, finding it ridiculous, but then, when the stranger steps back, he notices his heartfelt and melancholic gaze. It’s the first time he sees someone else reacting to his work that way, and he can’t stop fast enough a fleeting thought: that he’s understood what Craig does and why, that he’s understood him and what has happened through his life. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad, but he feels _invaded_ and wants that man to stop whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Do you know him?” Leopold says, impressed. Startled, Craig looks at him and shakes his head. “He’s new to the country! I could present it to ya.”

“No, it’s not necessary-“

“C’mon,” Leopold smiles loopsidely, guiding him by gently pushing his shoulder, and all Craig feels is dread, “he’s a critic- or writer- from Europe- or was it the USA? Anyways, could be fan of yours, with the way he’s looking at your pieces.”

 _Critic?_ It wasn’t what he expected at all.

“Hey, Kyle!” Leopold says with a wide grin, and the redhead almost jumps back as if he were caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “How’s Bogotá treatin’ ya? Crazy city, isn’t it?”

Kyle returns the grin, chuckling and nodding, but all Craig sees is fake, forced gestures. “It’s all over the place, yes.” Their eyes meet, however, and Kyle does give him a small yet sincere smile. It disarms him.

“This is Craig Tucker,” Leopold says with a flick of his hand, and Kyle’s eyes widen, “y’know, _the_ artist, and he’s Kyle Broflovski.”

Kyle and Craig shake hands and both let the contact linger a second longer than intented. Overly conscious of it, Craig crosses his arms and wishes his empty cup was full so he could have a distraction.

Whatever awkwardness’ left is interrupted by Leopold’s energetic voice: “Did’ya see Wendy’s review of David Rodriguez’ paintings at her gallery? I haven’t seen them yet- not face to face- but she was too generous with her comments. I mean, Colombia’s artist of the decade? C’mon, that was a bit too much, wasn’t it? With those _boring_ traditionalist landscapes he makes.”

Kyle huffs, amused, and shrugs slightly. “I haven’t seen them either, but Bebe has. She, actually, has the same opinion as you and complained for days.”

“Really?” Leopold’s too thrilled to be true. “Where is she?”

“I last saw her in the hallway, in front of the elevator.” Before Kyle’s finished talking Leopold’s hurried away, and he sighs in relief. “Excuse me. He’s kind, but…” He makes a face and Craig huffs a laugh.

“He’s a bit too much.” He fills in and Kyle nods, laughing a bit too.

Silence falls between them, but it’s not an uncomfortable one.

“I, really admire your work, and what you do.” Kyle starts slowly, a bit shy as he goes back to looking at Craig’s drawing. “It’s really brave.”

“Brave?”

“Yes. The way these masculine bodies stand out is so raw, yet they’re being held by themselves, or by something invisible crushing them. It’s different from other things I’ve seen before regarding anatomic drawing.”

Craig looks down at his empty cup and fiddles with it. “My main goal isn’t to portray bodies correctly.”

“I know.” Kyle says, and Craig’s eyes snap up to him. “It’s a lot deeper than that. I can feel it.”

His heart skips a beat. “How so?”

“These… figures are a lot different from me, yet this is the best depiction of being caged in my own skin, in my own roles, that I’ve ever seen. I think… most of the men in this room can’t get it, can they?”

Craig shakes his head, breath staggering.

“This one in specific is my favorite. There something mystical in the way these arms and legs are tangled together, and at first it’s difficult to tell how many bodies are framed. The chaotic strokes of charcoal and the composed ones of pencil work together both in a figurative and metaphorical sense, if you think about it-“

Kyle goes on and on, passionate in his analysis and Craig can only stare, wide eyes taking in Kyle’s smiles and frowns, the way his wrist flicks and rolls as he brings his words to life through graceful gestures. He’s completely different from what he first expected, and he’s glad they’re able to share this moment, however ephemeral it may be, though he wishes they could talk more in depth with more privacy: maybe then Kyle wouldn’t have to hide what he truly means.

Craig dares placing a hand on Kyle’s shoulder to interrupt him. “We could talk outside, if you want. There’s too many people, too much noise.”

Kyle opens his mouth, makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I’ve got a dinner with my friend’s parents.”

“Oh.” Dejected, Craig drops his hand, breaking contact. Kyle winces, glances aside for a second, and moves his hands as if he were about to explain himself, and Craig notices a delicate silver ring on his left’s hand fourth finger.

“Time to go!” A blonde woman announces as he suddenly embraces Kyle from behind, who freezes, and Craig’s heart falls down to his stomach once he realizes it’s the same woman he criticized earlier. She looks back and forth between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No.” Kyle answers a bit too fast. “Craig: this is Bebe, my friend, and Bebe, this is Craig Tucker.”

“I see!” Bebe lets go of him, smiling. “Your exhibition is fantastic! It’s such a shame that we can’t stay any longer. My husband _loves_ your work since we first saw it at October’s temporary exhibition at the MAMBO- and I can’t blame him, it’s absolutely _glorious!_ ”

Craig’s frozen, lost, unable to react, but Bebe doesn’t expect him to: instead of looking for a reaction to her words, she looks down at her watch- a big, golden thing that seems too heavy for her wrist- and squeezes Kyle’s hand.

“Alright then.” She says and gives Craig a mischievous smile. “I’m sure you two can have some _quality time_ some other day.” She pulls at Kyle who, with flushed cheeks, nods at him, quietly saying _‘goodbye’._ Craig just stares, watching them walk away through a sea of people, and he catches the sight of him glancing back, their eyes meeting for a split second before he vanishes.

A waiter offers him another cup of wine and he’s quick to accept it and gulp the liquid down, hoping it’ll disintegrate the knot that has formed between his lungs.

**Author's Note:**

> This story's been buzzing around in my head for years now. Hopefully I'll have it fully edited and finished as soon as possible!


End file.
